


That Magic

by ourdivineashes



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, post-episode 44
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdivineashes/pseuds/ourdivineashes
Summary: “Blood does things,” Caduceus says. “I think you know that. And from what Jester told me, that altar ritual was almost done. The energies of that, the repression of that magic, it had to go somewhere.”“That magic,” asks Caleb. “What do you think it will do?”-Two conversations, and the ways that magic might work.





	That Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I am free from the iron grip of grad school, which means I have time to write again. This one is short because I wanted to get it up before tonight's episode. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!

He’s shaking by the time they reach the deck of the ship, and he does his best to not show the way his legs almost collapse when he climbs over the edge. Beau’s hand supports him at the elbow anyway, and he allows it. Fjord glances at him for the barest second, and then turns away to find Orly. Caleb doesn’t stop him. Instead, he stumbles below deck to his quarters, sinks gratefully into his bed. 

 

His body aches. Every part of him pulses with the thrum of blood in his ears, and his hand… his hand feels larger, a focal point of nerves that makes it central to his senses. He needs to sleep. Maybe for a whole day. But he has things he needs to do first. Oh, but he is sinking, sinking further into oblivion…

 

There is a soft knock at the door, followed by the hunched figure of Caduceus leaning in.

 

“Are you awake, Mr. Caleb?” he asks, and that soothing rumble makes Caleb’s lips twitch with the shadow of a smile.

 

“Hello, Mr. Clay,” he mumbles in response. His eyes are closed, and he’s not sure when that happened. “What can I do for you?”   
  


“I think it’s the other way around,” Caduceus muses, and he draws closer to perch at the end of Caleb’s bed. “You’ve had a rough night.” Caleb hums in acknowledgement. There’s a lengthy pause before Clay continues. “Jester told me what happened at the altar.”

 

Caleb opens one eye to look at him. Caduceus’s expression is clouded, a concern sketched there that would seem mild on any other face, but on his, speaks volumes. 

 

“You do not approve.”

 

“I wonder,” Caduceus corrects. “The two of you… The rest of us look to you both, whether or not you like it, and I wonder… what this changes.”

 

“We are still following Fjord,” Caleb says. “We are still seeing where this journey leads us, the same as before.” But the protests sound weak on his tongue, and Caduceus gives him a look that knows.

 

“Blood does things,” Caduceus continues. “I think you know that. And from what Jester told me, that altar ritual was almost done. The energies of that, the repression of that magic, it had to go somewhere.”

 

Caleb looks down at his hand. He hasn’t even bandaged it, and the time spent underwater prevented the blood from coagulating, so the wound still stings fresh. His muscles recall the slicing movement, and he feels light-headed again, thinking of the blood clouding the water around the cut. So much blood he lost, and so much of Fjord’s suffusing into the water around them both. He thinks about that tension, how they refused to look away from each other. Couldn’t have done it even if they tried. He presses down on his palm and hisses.

 

“Of course,” Caduceus says, shaking himself. “I’m here to fix that, I’m sorry. Forgot myself for a moment.”

 

He takes Caleb’s hand gently into his own and twists his fingers in a peculiar motion in order to produce a stream of clean water. This he runs over the wound and lets it trickle onto the floor. From his pocket, he produces a roll of cloth and a small poultice jar. He gingerly dabs a finger into the mix and then smears it along the edges of cut skin. 

 

“To prevent infection,” he says, almost unnecessarily, but Caleb nods. He watches then as Caduceus methodically wraps his hand, muttering words of healing under his breath, and Caleb feels a warm energy suffuse through the muscles there.

 

They hold still there, Caleb’s bandaged hand looking small in Caduceus’s larger ones, and for a moment Caleb can’t breathe as he’s struck with the memory of his father performing almost the same motions when he fell and scraped his hand as a child. It is so unexpected, and so exactly what he needs.

 

“That magic,” he says. “What do you think it will do?”

 

“Ah, you’d know that better than I would, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus replies, a soft chuckle in his voice. “I think a better question might be, are you willing to deal with the consequences of it?”

 

Caleb doesn’t answer, drawing his hands back to his lap and staring at the grain of wood in the floorboards. His mind is swimming, and he thinks of the hungry curiosity shining in Fjord’s eyes down below. He thinks of goals and favors and _always_ , and guilt curls familiar into his gut.

 

“Get some rest,” Caduceus says after a long silence. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

_ “Danken,” _ he mumbles, and almost before the door is shut, he falls into sleep’s welcoming arms.

 

\--

 

He is sore the next day, but nothing he can’t deal with. Frumpkin is still an octopus, but Caleb summons him anyway, taking comfort in the cling of his tentacles as the fey slides up his arm and nestles close into his neck. With his companion, he makes his way up to the deck, and in the dim light of this cloudy day he knows that he slept far later than anyone else did. Nott and Jester are talking and laughing, sitting on top of one of the booms; Beau has carved a space for herself to run through routines with her staff; he’s not sure where Caduceus has hidden himself, although he thinks the kitchen might be a good guess.

 

Fjord stands alone at the bow, staring out to the horizon.

 

He isn’t sure if he should join, but he feels something like a tug from below his sternum, so he walks over. Fjord doesn’t react when he joins his side, except to inhale slow and deep, like he’s remembering the motion.

 

“Did you rest well?” he asks.

 

Caleb nods. “ _ Ja _ , considering…”

 

Fjord glances over at him, a wrinkle in his brow, before returning his gaze forward. “I know what you mean,” he says. “There’s… much to think about.”

 

Swallowing, Caleb looks away from Fjord and follows his line of sight. “I understand if you… if you regret what happened last night.”

 

“No.” Fjord’s response is immediate and firm, but after there is a pause, a breath. “Do you?”

 

Caleb runs a finger over the bandage around his palm. “I think I pushed you into this,” he says quietly. “I can be forceful, when I want something. And I want your help. I need it.”

 

“You have it,” Fjord says, and now Caleb can feel his eyes upon him. “Caleb, I didn’t need to,” and he falters here, looking for the words. “Make a deal with you to promise you help. I’ll help you because you’re my friend.”

 

Caleb twists his lips, feels the doubt constricting his throat. “I want this to be fair, I want us to be.” He fumbles, motions between the two of them. “Equal.”

 

“This isn’t a ledger between us, Caleb,” says Fjord. “I’m not doing this because I owe you, or I feel obligated to you. Don’t get me wrong, it means… everything to me, that you have followed me on this. And I don’t think I could’ve made it this far without you.”

 

As he speaks, he turns his body towards Caleb, and with the barest tremor, reaches to take his hand. Caleb’s breath escapes him, leaving his chest with a short punch, and he can’t take his eyes off the gentle movements of Fjord’s fingers as he unwinds the bandage from his hand. 

 

“I say to you,  _ We understand each other _ ,” Fjord murmurs. “I say that we are together in this. I say, I want to be for you, what you have been for me.”

 

He presses cut palm to cut palm again, and the last time it felt dangerous, a thrum of potent energy flowing between them. This time, it is a promise. A quiet reassurance. The kind of ritual that offers protection and safe harbor.

 

Caleb finally, finally, looks up into Fjord’s eyes. Hope burns bright in his gaze, and trust too, beyond what Caleb deserves. His throat constricts, and he thinks of Caduceus’s talk of magic and consequences. Not all magic works the same way, he thinks. He wonders if he can learn to trust the way that Fjord does, wonders if something in that magic has changed him so that he can. Hand in hand, his head tilted back to look Fjord in the eye as they’ve drawn closer, he thinks he might be brave enough to try.

 

“Together,” he says.

  
   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @ourdivineashes for more crying about widofjord


End file.
